


the red on my lips has never been lipstick

by makemelovely



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Backstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Femme Fatale, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Mentioned Sexual Content, POV Second Person, Short, Short One Shot, and by that i mean in depth, the backstory irina deserves tbh, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 18:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makemelovely/pseuds/makemelovely
Summary: Irina has never been weak, and she's always been a killer.





	the red on my lips has never been lipstick

You learn how to kill when you are seven and you spot your parents bodies laying in the rubble. You spot him, a gigantic gun strapped to his belt, and you think about the bullet holes in your parents chests. They match. You move before you can really think about it. You grab a large shard of glass, dust caked along the sharp edges. You dart behind him, leaping off of a rock. Your elbow hooks around his throat, and you drag him down. You quickly drop your arm, and you flick your hand. The glass shard slides across his throat, jugular to jugular. He chokes out, and you withdraw your hand before the blood can touch your lovely dress.

_

You leave him, gasping and choking on his own blood. She stops you a street over, and takes you home with her. That’s where he meets you, and decides to train you. Suddenly you see your skinny elbows as an asset, not a disadvantage.

_

You learn to fuck guys as long it’s for your own good. You get them sleepy and sated, and they never spot the dagger hidden among your satin sheets. Red, of course. It helps disguise the blood.

_

You only fall in love once. He holds your hands in his sleep, and for months you look at him with adoration in your eyes, and it all feels real. You kiss him, and it doesn’t burn like acid against your tongue.

He kisses you goodnight after you change the sheets, falls asleep with hair wet from the shower. You wait until the tears stop, and you slit his throat. Quickly. Efficiently. 

You kill him because you are told to. You kill him because you need to.

You can’t have a reputation for being weak. That wouldn’t help in your line of work.

_

You grow breasts bigger than your head, and you make sure to wear clothing that doesn’t restrict them at all or restricts them too much. Low cut clothes or tight clothes. Nothing in between.

_

You accept the job because the money is too good to be true. You just have to kill some yellow bastard.

It’s the beginning of the end, and you don’t even know it.


End file.
